Never Our Story
by Rhianwen
Summary: I wish I could say that we'll meet up and be together in the new world, but I know that’s just silly. It would make for one hell of a plot twist; and this was never our story." DrakeWendy. Companion piece to "From Another Angle". Wendy's POV.


Never Our Story

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Summary: "I wish I could say that we'll meet up and be together in the new world, but I know that's just silly. It would make for one hell of a plot twist; and this was never our story." Drake/Wendy. Companion piece to "From Another Angle". Wendy's POV. Set sometime during Episode 25.

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"She's done well for herself."

I can't tell you how many people I've overheard throw out that trite little phrase in relation to me. And I suppose that, by all normal standards, it's true.

But I can't help but feel that, along with respect and greater self-worth and financial well-being, I've also gained a lot to apologize for. To my family, to my friends, to Yomiko, to Junior, to the rest of those girls that I'm supposed to hate on principle, to…

To you.

I'm not stupid, Drake; I know that you never would have believed that I was capable of what I've done, and I think you liked that, even. You liked what I was, instead of what I _could_ be, and I guess I loved you for that. Among…other things.

You told me once that I reminded you of your daughter. And even though I don't want you for a father and never have, I could appreciate that this is the highest compliment you could give to anyone.

I don't suppose I remind you of your daughter anymore. Not this cold, calculating bitch who's murdered; and blackmailed; and happily supported an organization that made a practice of painful and illegal human experimentation; and constructed elaborate schemes to back _good people_ into a corner, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and dragged them into something they don't deserve.

You must hate me for being such a _disappointment_. For falling so utterly from the state of perpetual grace and innocence that you seemed to see in me. I'm almost glad we're keeping you too busy trying futilely – maybe – to stop us in between bouts of running for your life, to have a spare second to think about it now.

Good God, you really did think I was your little sister or something, didn't you? Not that I ever _really_ expected anything more from you – I knew that I wasn't your type, and never could be. I'm sure you like your women busty, and probably drunk and bitchy. Not cheerful and overly emotional and far too naïve.

But at least you know that I wasn't always like _this_.

Maybe you even know that I'm still not like this, not really.

You probably do. You always knew more about me than I wanted you to.

Although, you could certainly misinterpret things when you wanted to. Like that insane idea you got about me being madly in love with Mr. Joker.

Of course I love him; why wouldn't I love the one man who happened to notice that, oh my, there _is_ a working brain underneath all that pretty fluffy blonde hair and big eyes? As I recall, it took _you_ a lot of time to figure that out.

And why wouldn't I love the man who explained, point by point, exactly what to do to be promoted to a position far beyond what I'd ever hoped for, after being _very pretty, you know, but not very bright_ all my life? And helped me _do_ it? And even held off on hiring someone more suitable until I fit the job requirements?

He told me exactly what would be required in a job that would mean being watched by_ those who matter_. He explained the best ways to act ("Be respectful, but not timid; act as though you are superior, and you _know_ it"), to speak ("Quietly, but with _authority_ – I know you can, let's hear it again"), to move ("If you'd only stop trying to _rush_…"), to dress…

He even taught me to cook – as much as _he_ knew, anyway, and only until we almost burned down my kitchen boiling a pot of water – and nagged me to clean my room as meticulously as I did his office, until it became habit.

Do you know what most girls call the man who does these sorts of things for them?

Daddy. Dad. _Father_, if they're being formal. Certainly not _lover_, or even _lust object_.

Do you remember when you brought it up? Probably not – you were just teasing your silly little girl-buddy about her _crush_ on her boss. Not the sort of thing a man tends to lay awake thinking about years later.

I remember it. One of the last times we met. In my flat, because neither of us felt like inhaling smoke all night, and you sort of smirked up at me from the floor and threw out some idiotic comment about the scarf I sent you for Christmas being a practice run before I made the _good copy_ for Mr. Joker. I didn't catch what you were implying for a few seconds, and when I finally did, I was too stunned to even reply.

A lot of people had that impression – and still have it – but I'd thought that _you_, of all people, would know me better than that.

Not only that, I worked really _hard_ on that scarf, you insensitive lout!

I wish I hadn't countered with that doubly idiotic thing about you being mad about Yomiko. Particularly as you argued the point hotly enough to prove that it was bloody well _true_.

Wonderful time you picked to make a concession and choose the sweet, innocent, good-natured girl. Just in time to spend the next five years looking for her.

Still, I suppose you're happy to have found her again. I thought she was too tangled up in Nancy Makuhari and that author Sumiregawa to pay any mind to anyone else, but I could be wrong. I usually am when this sort of thing is involved. I don't know if I've _ever_ interpreted a signal like that correctly in my life.

So I hope you and your little terrorist are happy, Drake, for what time you have left.

And…I hope that you can find each other after The Gentleman's return, and be happy again.

I'll likely be off somewhere, in bed with Mr. Joker – provided, of course, that the tiny shred of Junior that remains in Mr. Gentleman doesn't take me up on my offer to hold still while he exacts his gruesome revenge. _That_ suits _my _role.

After all, my mother always said that like takes to like, and it takes a monster to love a monster, so I suppose we suit each other in that regard. Maybe we'll recognize the same evil in each other, and be drawn to it. We'll feel a connection, but we won't know what it is – we won't know that we were like family – and we'll fall in love because of it.

And maybe it won't be so bad.

Because I really think that, if I hadn't already been so utterly mad about you, you oblivious idiot, I might have fallen for him. I know you would call this the worst fate imaginable, but then, you didn't see him as anything but the emotionless manipulator he seemed to think he had to be to accomplish anything. You didn't get to see him carry a silly little girl into her apartment after she fell asleep in his car, because he'd didn't want to wake her up when she'd told him earlier that she'd been having trouble sleeping all week. You didn't get to see him spend his entire Christmas Eve with a young woman who'd never been away from family at that time of year before, and could barely stand the loneliness.

You didn't see him stay all night, when he didn't _really_ have time to spare, with a woman feeling completely out-of-place in a new apartment, in a new city, with a little boy she had no idea how to care for. He slept on that awful fold-out thing I had in place of a _real_ spare bed, in the interest of making that silly woman feel less alone and overwhelmed.

I suppose even a villain can hold babies and pat puppy dogs, but I really can't believe that he has _no_ good in him.

He might be too preoccupied with anything that happens to be on his mind to be an especially attentive lover, but frankly, the thought of an attentive lover makes me claustrophobic.

Unless it's you.

I_ think_ I could stand, and even enjoy, being held closely and a little possessively, and touching and holding hands and exchanging sugar-sweet smiles in public, if it was with you.

I wish I could say that I hope we can meet up and be together in the new world, but I know that's just silly.

After all, it would make for one hell of a plot twist; and this was never our story.

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End Notes: Right; so, this is a companion piece to "From Another Angle", but also a continuation of sorts, in that I see it taking place sometime during Episode 25 (most likely immediately after Wendy's conversation with Junior). 

Anyway, I've had a ton of fun writing this, and I'm sort of considering doing another part, set post-series. Maybe actually let the two incredibly mismatched lovebirds be sort of happy. But I'm not sure if that would rob the story of something or not. Is the depressing ending better? Completely aside from the problems inherent in finding a realistic way toend it happily... :P


End file.
